


Before the Storm

by Adolphus Longestaffe (adolphus_longestaffe)



Series: They Are Venom [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Venom (Comics), Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, M/M, Other, lots of wheels to get spinning, this one is long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 03:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adolphus_longestaffe/pseuds/Adolphus%20Longestaffe





	Before the Storm

01:21:14 ASP Romanoff, N.: That’s my number. Call me if you need anything, ok?

01:21:21 ASP Romanoff, N.: Bye, Venom. Oh, and my friends call me Nat.

[footsteps, door opens, door closes]

01:22:44 Male Voice 1: I’m not sleeping.

01:22:47 Male Voice 1: Yeah, but you knocked me out, so it doesn’t count. What did she say? You think she’s our way in?

01:22:58 Male Voice 1: I hope you’re right. We can’t do any real damage unless we get inside. Those places are locked down like fortresses.

01:23:11 Male Voice 1: I don’t know. I don’t even know what good guys and bad guys are anymore. But they have to pay for what they did to us. To our baby.

01:23:24 Male Voice 1: I like when you talk that way, baby.

01:23:31 Male Voice 1: Yes. Fuck. Keep talking to me.

[indistinct sounds]

01:27:55 Male Voice 1: Fuck me hard. I want it to hurt.

[indistinct sounds, miscellaneous vocalizations]

01:43:19 Male Voice 1: Love you too, V. Love you so much.

Natasha scans the transcript on her monitor with a frown. She sits down and puts her headphones on, then scrubs back through the audio to the timestamp on the transcript. The signal is strong and the recording is fairly clear. She hears herself setting down the card with the embedded micro-transmitter, and telling Venom to call her if he needs anything. She doesn’t hear his response, nor his second goodbye, using the familiar form of her first name. Mr. Brock is obviously speaking with him during the remainder of the recording, too. So, either his voice doesn’t register on electronic devices for some reason, or it isn’t actually audible, and he “speaks” using some other means.

Either way, the result is that whatever he’d been saying to Eddie isn’t on record. She can draw some of it from inference. His response to Eddie’s first question is clearly confirmation of his confidence in Natasha’s being their “way in,” as Eddie put it. From Eddie’s reply, she guesses that the second is a request for clarification regarding who is a “good guy” or “bad guy.” Likely in reference to SHIELD. Venom seems very interested in this particular dichotomy.

The next is not so easy to triangulate from context. Eddie seems to have jumped fairly quickly from revenge for the death of their baby to “I like it when you talk like that.” Whatever Venom said to elicit this response, it can’t be anything good. After Eddie’s husked out, “fuck me hard, I want it to hurt,” she stops the audio and takes off her headphones. She can guess what the auto-transcriber means by miscellaneous vocalizations. Surveillance is part of the job, but she is under no obligation to listen to them having sex.

She can’t help but wonder about the mechanics, but she’s not shocked that sex is part of their relationship. Venom had confirmed her assertion that they were in love in the romantic sense, and barring the fact that one of them was a demonic head who moved about on writhing tentacles attached to his other’s brain stem, their manner of interacting with one another had seemed fairly typical of a loving couple.

From what little she understands of the symbiote’s physiology, however, it’s not likely that the pregnancy resulted directly from intercourse. She smiles at the fact that they both identify Venom as male, but don’t seem to find any incongruence between that and his pregnancy. Leave it to a carnivorous alien parasite to toss out human ideas about gender binaries, enthusiastically top his boyfriend, and also carry their baby.

She sits back and sighs. She’s disappointed that they thought the good-cop bad-cop routine would work on her, but she’s not surprised they attempted to deceive her. They are using any means they can think of to get close enough to SHIELD to exact their revenge. If she’d been in their position, she’d have done the same. It may have even worked on someone else.They certainly haven’t tangled with someone on her level before, but they’re not stupid.

She knows from the files Coulson gave her that Eddie’s IQ is well above average, and Venom is intelligent, too. His intelligence isn’t quite human, though. Despite his predatory nature, there is something so childlike and naïve about him. Like…well, like an alien from another planet. She finds herself rather inclined to like the oddly endearing alien predator and his hotheaded boyfriend-slash-residence. Unfortunately, they are extraordinarily dangerous and have a stated wish to “do real damage” to the SHIELD agency. Neutralizing such potential threats is part of her job.

Still, she doesn’t believe that either of them are irredeemable. Not yet. If body count is the deciding factor in who is capable of redemption, she herself outranks them as a lost cause by a wide margin. They hadn’t really been a threat to anyone but the worst among the worst, until SHIELD intervened. Incarcerating them had essentially weaponized them. The question now is how to handle them.

She is lying in her bed mulling this over, when her phone vibrates on her nightstand. She recognizes Agent Coulson’s secure line on the ID and picks it up.

“Hey, Phil. What’s up?”

“Agent Romanoff,” Coulson’s voice replies, sounding uncharacteristically harried. “I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but something has come up. Our secure medical facility in LA was attacked. We’ve got six agents and two med staff dead, and the remains of the symbiote offspring were taken. Please tell me you’ve got eyes on Brock.”

 

 

Eddie is drifting, deep in peaceful sleep for what seems like the first time in weeks. Gradually, as if he is being washed gently ashore, he emerges into hazy consciousness. Before his eyes are open, he smells the rich, enticing aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. For a moment, he’s back in his shithole apartment in San Francisco, waking up to his old life. Then he opens his eyes and sees the peeling paint on the wall in his shithole apartment in New York. Ugh. At least the coffee smell is real. Wait…they absolutely do not have a coffee maker.

He turns over and sees a gorgeous, auburn-haired woman in a leather jacket and blue-jeans sitting at his breakfast table. She is sipping coffee from a white paper cup and typing on her phone, like she owns the place. He pulls the sheet around his waist as he pushes himself out of bed.

“Natasha Romanoff,” he says gruffly. “You just let yourself in, huh?”

“Morning, Eddie,” Natasha replies. “Venom let me in, but he wanted you to sleep a little longer, so I waited. I brought breakfast.”

Eddie eyes the box of donuts and the second coffee cup, sitting on the table beside it. “What do you want?”

“I want to make a deal with you.”

“Well, coffee and donuts is a good start,” he says warily. “But I hope that’s not all you’re offering. You mind?”

“Mind?”

“Turning around for a second so I can get some clothes on.” He flashes a wicked grin. “Suit yourself, though. I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to take a peek.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and turns away.

“All done,” he says, almost immediately.

She turns back to see that he has tossed the sheet onto the bed and is wearing what very much appears to be a black t-shirt and tight, black jeans, with motorcycle boots. There is no possibility he could have dressed that quickly, though, even if he’d been holding the clothing in his hands.

“Holy shit,” she laughs. “Venom can be clothes?”

“Yeah, he’s really handy in a pinch,” Eddie says drily, taking the other paper cup from the table. “Thanks for the coffee.”

**Want donuts, Eddie. Chocolate ones.**

“I’ll get you one, V. Hold your horses for a second.”

**Do not have horses. Would like to eat horses.**

“Gross, babe. We don’t eat horses.”

**Hungry, Eddie.**

“I know you’re hungry. I’m being polite and letting the lady take one first.”

Natasha watches Eddie’s side of the interchange, not even attempting to suppress her smile. She can’t hear or see Venom, but it’s fairly clear he’s fussing for donuts. They really are adorable. For man-eating killers on the run from the law.

“Oh, I ate before I came over,” she says, pushing the box toward Eddie. “These are all for you guys.”

Eddie opens the box and takes a chocolate-glazed Bavarian cream, then sits down in the other chair and bites into it, still regarding her as if she is a serpent who might suddenly strike. “What kind of deal and why?”

**Rude. No talking with our mouth full.**

“Can it, slimeball,” Eddie says, through his bite of donut. “You let her into our apartment without asking me or even waking me up. You’re the one who’s rude.”

**You needed sleep. More donuts.**

“I’m working on it,” Eddie grumbles. “I can only eat so fast. You were explaining why you’re here?”

“There was a break-in at SHIELD’s secure medical facility in Los Angeles,” Natasha says. “Some valuable equipment was stolen and several agents and medical staff were killed. We want your help tracking down the people responsible.”

Eddie squints at her over the rim of his coffee cup. “I didn’t realize we were such good friends with SHIELD, now.”

“Not friends, exactly. More like lower-priority enemies.”

“Got it,” Eddie nods. “Hear that, V? We’re moving down in the world. Thanks for the offer, Agent Romanoff. Please send SHIELD our regards and let them know they can go fuck themselves.”

“I understand the hostility and trust me, they feel the same about you,” Natasha says diplomatically. “As far as they are concerned, you’re murderers and fugitives. But I’m asking for your help for a reason.”

“Well?”

“The group who attacked the facility only took Life Foundation tech used to sustain and monitor symbiotes. That includes all of the five remaining bio-tanks, one of which was being kept quarantined in cold storage. The one that contained the remains of your child.”

**What is cold storage?**

Eddie stares at her stone-faced, with his keen, grey-blue eyes. “And you think that’s good enough bait to draw us into this very obvious trap.”

**Why did they take little one?**

“It’s not a trap, Eddie,” Natasha says. “You may think I’m stupid, but I don’t think you are, despite that weak-ass good-cop bad-cop routine. I know you’re trying to use me to get close to SHIELD and carry out your suicidal revenge plot. It’s not going to happen, so I suggest you reconcile yourself to cooperating.”

Eddie looks stricken for a split second, but recovers and curls his lip in a sneer. “Why would we do that?”

“You don’t fully understand your situation, Eddie. They want you brought in. I could’ve called in the big guns anytime, but I wanted you to come willingly. Things have changed and I don’t have time to keep asking nicely, so now I am telling you. You are going to assist with this investigation and you are going to behave yourselves, or I will call them in and they will put you down.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow. “Which big guns?”

“Whichever ones I need,” Natasha says flatly.

Tired of being ignored, Venom’s oily black mass whirls rapidly out of Eddie’s clothing, solidifying into his head between them, at Natasha’s eye level.

**What is cold storage? Why did they take little one’s body?**

“Cold storage is like a big freezer,” Natasha explains. “It was being kept there to protect the organic matter from decay. We don’t know why they took it.”

“But you have an idea,” Eddie says.

“Our concern is that they might be planning to use it and the Life Foundation equipment to engineer more symbiotes.”

**More…like little one.**

Venom gives a rasping hiss, coiling and undulating menacingly.

**Born in pain. Raised in cages. Like animals!**

“Like slaves, Venom,” she says gravely. “Living weapons.”

His fangs begin to drip with some kind of transparent, radioactive-green fluid and his voice grows into a thunderous snarl.

**Our children will not be weapons! We will not be slaves again!**

“Don’t listen to this, V,” Eddie breaks in. “She’s manipulating you. They’re trying to trap us and control us.”

“I told you, it’s not a trap,” Natasha says, keeping her eyes on Venom. “If I wanted you two locked up, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

Venom’s face draws closer, till his forehead nearly touches hers. His serpentine tongue writhes and flicks, as the opalescent eye-spots seem to study her intently. Natasha looks back at him, undaunted. His anger, though terrible to witness, isn’t directed at her. He draws away after a long moment, appearing to relax somewhat.

**You believe what you say. We will help you, Natasha Romanoff.**

“We?” Eddie says incredulously. “Don’t I get some fucking say in ‘we’?”

“You don’t have a choice, Eddie,” Natasha says, rising from the table. “Think of it as a way to get closure. Or at least avoid going to prison for the rest of your life for the murder of two SHIELD agents.”

**No prison. Eddie did not—**

“No, V, stop!” Eddie cuts him off. “Don’t tell her anything else.”

He pauses and stares away, as if listening to something Natasha can’t hear. After a moment, he slumps forward, resting his head in the palms of his hands.

“They already think you’re a monster, baby,” he pleads. “They’ll try to take you away from me again.”

**Must tell her, Eddie.**

Venom curls a slick-black tendril around his neck, caressing him soothingly. He turns back to Natasha.

**Eddie tried to die. Had to stop him. Killed them to save Eddie. To stay together.**

Natasha frowns. “You killed them before you were reunited? Eddie, is this true?”

Eddie nods without looking up.

**They hurt us. Killed little one. Didn’t know it was wrong to kill them.**

“I wish you’d told me this before,” Natasha says. “If you weren’t together at the time, Eddie isn’t culpable in the deaths of those agents.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says bitterly. “And what about all the others? You do know we eat people, right?”

**Only eat bad guys.**

“I think they’ll be willing to grant amnesty if you cooperate. But I am warning you both. This revenge bullshit is only going to get you killed or worse, so don’t try to play me.” She points to the door. “Now get moving.”

Venom’s head retracts inside as Eddie hops up reflexively at her command, then realizes it and balks. “What do you mean get moving? Where?”

“We’re going to the tower to get a lift. The compound is upstate.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Eddie says, striving to maintain any semblance of control of the situation. “You show up here unannounced with this story about break ins and stolen tech, and now you expect us to just drop everything and run off with you to some compound upstate?”

Natasha crosses her arms. “No, I’ll wait while you clear your schedule.”

Eddie blinks at her for a second. “Ok, then. After you.”

 

 

Eddie spends the ride to Stark Tower on the back of Natasha’s motorcycle, trying not to feel awkward about the fact that his hands are on her hips. He had opened his mouth to make some complaint about riding in the girl’s seat, but Venom had wisely throttled him before the words came out. He had withdrawn and become silent after that, so Eddie is left to his own thoughts for the time being. These mostly revolve around how long it’s been since he has touched another human being, male or female, in a way that didn’t involve removing their head and major organs.

He is also beginning to feel the sting of something cold and acrid. Jealousy. He can’t read Venom’s intentions and emotions as clearly as Venom can read his, but he can feel how much his symbiote likes this woman, and it rankles. They seem to have some kind of sympathy or understanding between them that he isn’t privy to. He trusts Venom, but he can’t help but wonder exactly how much he’d shared with her when he’d let her into his memory. And what they’d spoken about when Eddie had been unconscious, for that matter.

As much as Venom assures him that they are bonded, Eddie can never quite shake the fear that he will find a superior host and abandon him. Natasha is superior to him in pretty much every way. She is beautiful, intelligent, and a trained spy. Not to mention an Avenger. A real life hero. Maybe even a superhero. Though she is small and slight, he can feel the strength in her body, and knows instinctively that it far outmatches his own, without Venom. The symbiote’s strength is partially dependent on the host, so someone with their own inherent power could make Venom literally unstoppable. Someone less torn apart by rage and barely-controlled suicidal tendencies might make him happier, at least.

The death of the baby he hadn’t known existed and his belief that his other had died as well were only part of the reason Eddie had put the gun in his mouth that day. He’d almost done it when Annie left him, too. He knows normal people don’t suddenly decide to end it all over a breakup. It’s something wrong with his brain, and it’s not a chemical imbalance. That would be remedied by Venom’s tinkering with his internal systems. People believe the way they’re taught, and the lessons of a lifetime are not easily unlearned.

Eddie had learned, through painstaking diligence on his father’s part, that he was worthless. His father never let him forget that his selfishness in daring to exist had robbed the world of his infinitely preferable mother. She had been an angel descended from heaven, and Eddie’s birth had killed her. He’d stolen her life and survived, despite being wholly undeserving of her sacrifice.

Eddie had striven to prove the old man wrong, and failed every time. He was a star player and got a college scholarship, but he didn’t make quarterback. He was the best reporter at his high school and college newspapers, even won awards, but he was never the editor. He graduated with honors, but he wasn’t valedictorian, he had a TV show, but it wasn’t nationally syndicated, and so on. No matter how well Eddie did, there was always someone who did just a little bit better, and his father always made sure he knew that they succeeded because they deserved it, and he didn’t.

Annie had defended him fiercely and eventually encouraged him to the point where he was able to sever ties with the old drunk. He is still grateful to her for that. What an amazing partner and friend she’d been. Of course, he’d fucked that up, too. Dan does deserve her, though, and he makes her happy. Eddie doesn’t grudge them that happiness, for all it confirms his worst feelings about himself.

All that’s left is for Venom to leave him, too, so he can die in a gutter somewhere and the old man can refuse to bury him in the family plot, and his life story will have its final sentence. Edward Thomas Brock: died alone, unmourned, and interred by the State of New York in a municipal cemetery.

He is so lost in his gloomy thoughts, he doesn’t realize they’ve arrived at Stark Tower until they’re already stepping off the elevator onto the rooftop helipad. Venom must’ve sensed his introspection and quietly taken the reins. He does that sometimes.

Like any good New Yorker, Eddie is blasé about the spectacular view of the city (provided they stay well away from the edge of the building), but he can’t help gawk at the thing Natasha had casually called a lift. He’d expected a helicopter, but it looks more like a little spaceship or a kind of chubby, sci-fi jet. As the reality of getting into it sinks in, however, his acrophobia overtakes him and he sways with a sudden bout of vertigo. He hangs on to a safety railing while Natasha taps the screen of a tablet device and hands it back to the smiling man who had been waiting by the aircraft. Eddie assumes he’s the pilot, until he thanks her and trots away.

He glances around unsteadily. “Hey, uh…who’s flyin’ this thing?”

“I am,” Natasha says, with an impish grin. “Not afraid of heights are you?”

“Ha, yeah,” Eddie says, gripping the railing tighter. “Just, like…more than anything ever.”

“Well, you should probably keep your eyes closed, then. Get in.”

By the time he is seated in the cockpit and the canopy is closing over them, Eddie is shaking too hard to fasten his safety harness, and Venom has to assist. The engines whir to life and he breaks out in a cold sweat. He glances at Natasha, in the pilot’s seat beside him, but her amused smirk is not comforting. He white-knuckles the armrests of his seat and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to remember the prayer to Saint Christopher, as the aircraft begins to rise vertically off the helipad.

**Will be ok, Eddie. Falling cannot hurt us.**

“It ain’t the fall that kills you, V,” he pants. “It’s the sudden stop at the end.”

**Stop will not kill us, no matter how sudden.**

“I know it’s not logical, babe. It’s a phobia. I can’t control it.”

**You want to sleep?**

“Yes, I do,” Eddie says, nodding vigorously. “Right now, please. Before I puke.”

“Don’t puke in here,” Natasha warns. “Tony will bill you for the cleaning. He’s done it before.”

Eddie doesn’t respond. Merciful blackness has already taken him, and he sleeps soundly in his other’s steadfast embrace. He does not sleep long, since the jump jets only take about twenty minutes to make the two-hundred and fifty mile flight from Manhattan to the compound, but soundly nonetheless. Venom wakes him just after they land, in the middle of what looks like a meticulously landscaped, extremely high-tech business park.

A river borders the area on one side and a dense, lush forest surrounds the perimeter, but there don’t appear to be any fences. Eddie guesses anything that wanted to attack Avengers HQ probably wouldn’t be deterred by chain-link and concertina wire anyway. They follow Natasha down a paved walkway toward a big, futuristic-looking building, with the Avengers “A” emblazoned in black across the glossy white panels.

“This is the main building. Administration, logistics, legal, all of that,” Natasha says. She points behind them to some smaller structures across the wide, grassy area. “Training and materiel command are over there, and residential is back there,” indicating to the complex of buildings adjoining the lake.

“Residential?” Eddie asks. “You guys live here?”

“Some of us have permanent residences here, but there are temporary lodgings, too. We’ll get yours set up later.”

“Uh…ours?”

“We need to be mission-ready in twenty-four hours. We don’t have time to waste flying you back and forth. Besides, those jets aren’t free.”

“Mission-ready,” Eddie mumbles, bewildered by all of these new ideas.

He wonders if any of the other Avengers are around, and if he’ll see them. Not that he cares. He’s not some giggling fangirl who’s going to lose his mind over—oh holy shit what if Hulk shows up? Ugh, or Iron Man. If they do run into someone, he hopes it’s anyone but Douche-stache Stark or the Spiderbrat. As they approach the entrance to the main building, Venom becomes suddenly agitated.

**Do not like this, Eddie.**

“It’s gonna be ok, V,” Eddie says, sounding far more confident than he feels. “Natasha said they’re not gonna lock us up. If we can’t trust the word of a former Soviet double-agent assassin, who can we trust?”

Venom yanks on his muscles and holds him back from entering the sliding-glass door.

**Someone is trying to get in. Find out about us.**

“What’s wrong?” Natasha says, seeing that Eddie is not following.

“He says someone is trying to snoop around in our head. What the fuck is that about?”

“That’s Wanda scanning you for hostile intent, concealed weapons, that kind of thing. It’s standard procedure. I didn’t warn you because most of us can’t even tell it’s happening.”

“We can tell,” Eddie says irritably. “Make her cut it out.”

“She should be done by now. It’s just a superficial check for safety reasons.”

**Did not let her in. She went away.**

“He says it stopped. You might want to tell us if something like that is gonna happen again. Our adrenaline is all up and now we want to punch things.”

“Good news, then. The combat training facility has a boxing gym.”

Venom releases his hold on Eddie’s limbs, and they continue into the lobby.

“Training bags probably aren’t gonna do it,” Eddie says, looking cagily about, as if he might see the nosy psychic lurking nearby. “You got anything bigger?”

“We do, but we’re kind of sticklers for international security. Before I let you into any restricted areas, I need you to sign a legal waiver and get you a temp badge. Can’t have people running around the place with no accountability.”

“What kind of waiver?”

“It’s the usual boilerplate releasing the Avengers and any affiliated entities from wrongdoing in the case of your serious injury or death.”

**We will not die. Don’t want to sign boiler plates.**

Venom is pouting now, and Eddie knows that means he’s hungry. Donuts aren’t much of a meal for a thing that subsists largely on the organs of other creatures. That’s another issue. Venom won’t eat dead flesh. He seems to like when Eddie eats steak and other meats, but he won’t eat them himself. Eddie doubts they’ll be allowed out to hunt, and there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of livestock on hand. Maybe that river has fish in it.

**Many fish. Want to go fishing.**

_Be good, baby. We’ll eat as soon as we can._

Natasha leads them down a hall and opens a door, where Eddie expects to find a legal office with a secretary and lawyers, but it’s a rather small, bare room and no one else is present. On one wall, there is a desk with a flat monitor at which Natasha has him sit. She asks the thing verbally for the documents, and they pop up on screen. Despite Venom’s impatience, Eddie reads the entire thing before he signs, by pressing his palm to the screen, as instructed. Natasha touches a panel on the wall, which opens like a drawer, and she takes out a lanyard bearing a plastic badge. There is nothing printed on it but a big, orange D, in the center.

“Welcome to the Avengers, Mr. Brock,” she says, as she hands it to him. “You are now a provisional contractor, clearance level D.”

Eddie hangs it around his neck. “Thanks, I always wanted be a provisional contractor, clearance level D when I grew up. Does this mean we’re getting paid?”

“You’ll receive base compensation on the UN pay scale adjusted for specialty. Since your specialty falls under entirely unique, it’ll be a bit higher than otherwise.”

**Food.**

“In a minute, V.”

“Do you guys have more questions?”

“No, he’s hungry again,” Eddie says apologetically. “Donuts didn’t quite do it for him.”

“Why don’t I brief you on the mission parameters while we have lunch, then we’ll do your intake examination.”

“Sure—wait, intake examination? What does that mean?”

“Just a height, weight, vitals type of exam, then a few physical tests,” she says as they walk back down the hall. “We have to establish a medical baseline in case you need to be treated here. And we want to see what you can do.”

Eddie shakes his head as they step into an elevator. “We don’t like the sound of that. Sounds like you’re looking for our weaknesses.”

“Well, you have to do it, so try to have fun.” She raises her eyebrows coaxingly. “You’ll get to punch things.”

Eddie grins. “Can one of them be Stark’s face?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think he’ll be around. The Avengers are only assuming limited responsibility for you, and he has to maintain personal distance. You know, in case you flip out and kill a bunch of people. Try not to do that.”

“We’ll see.”

The dining facility is as big and fancy as Eddie would have expected for the Avengers, and features a variety of menu options from all over the world. There are people milling about and eating at the many tables, but Eddie doesn’t recognize any of them. Venom seems sufficiently palliated by the double cheeseburger, for now, and the meal proceeds pleasantly enough.

“So, brief us on the mission parameters,” Eddie says, munching on a tater tot.

“The Life Foundation was competing with a multinational conglomerate with their fingers in a whole lot of pies,” Natasha begins. “Specifically their bio-engineering branch, Alchemax, which is also headquartered in San Francisco. They spied on each other, tried to steal corporate secrets, all of that. Alchemax denied any knowledge of Drake’s activities and publically denounced him. However, they also privately arranged to contribute funds in excess of twenty million dollars to the families of the Life Foundation’s test subjects.”

“Pretty slick PR move, but it ain’t exactly a smoking gun,” Eddie says doubtfully.

“No, but Alchemax has been exploring genetic engineering in ways that cross ethical lines for decades. They’ve just been smarter about not getting caught doing anything outright illegal. Agent Coulson thinks that when everything blew up, they got wind of Drake’s research on the extraterrestrial organisms, and they wanted it pretty badly.”

“You said whoever did this wanted to make living weapons?”

“Yes. Curing diseases and prolonging human life are great ideas, but they’re not very lucrative. War is pretty much always where the money is.”

“I guess Stark Industries would know,” Eddie says sardonically.

Natasha ignores this. “Alchemax’s parent company has been around a long time. During World War II, they were involved in funding an Axis effort to steal super-soldier tech from the Strategic Scientific Reserve. They’ve undergone a serious reputation overhaul in the decades since, but there is motive and precedent.”

“Ok, so what do we do? Fly to San Francisco and beat it out of them?”

“Unfortunately, we can’t just go search the place on a hunch. But the people who actually attacked the facility were likely mercs hired through a cutout, since Alchemax would need to keep their hands clean. We’re thinking the best way to go about it is to track down the mercs.”

“Don’t mercs stay in business by keeping their mouths shut?”

Natasha smiles. “I can be pretty persuasive.”

Eddie returns the smile. “So can we.”

“That’s basically the rundown,” Natasha says, as they leave the dining facility. “You and I are just waiting on a ping from Coulson, and we’ll get out there and fight some bad guys. It could take a few days, though, so try to make yourself at home.”

“What happened to mission-ready in twenty-four hours?”

“We have to be ready to go at a moment’s notice, but that doesn’t mean we’ll get called right away.”

They take the elevator back down, exit the main building through one of the seemingly innumerable doors, and head down a curved breezeway toward yet another set of doors. Eddie wonders if this is meant to be intentionally disorienting, or if the architects were just showing off.

“In the mean time, we should get to know each other,” Natasha says. “If we’re going to work as a team, we need to get a feel for our dynamic, how we communicate best, that kind of thing.”

Eddie gives a derisive snort. “You know, I—I know what you’re doing, Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha stops and turns to face him. “What am I doing, Eddie?”

“You’re trying to make us like you. Make us feel like you like us, too. Like we’re one of the team, and not just some monster on a leash. But I know exactly what this is. There’s no bars, but it’s still a cage. You guys think you’re gonna get us to do your dirty work, and  when you’re done with us, we’ll conveniently disappear.”

“We don’t operate that way,” she says curtly, running out of patience for these pointless back and forth arguments with him. “I am not asking you for a favor, I am giving you a chance to redeem yourselves. Maybe even be heroes. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted, Eddie? To feel like you matter? To know you’re actually making a difference for once?”

The blow hits home with staggering precision, and Eddie is momentarily speechless.

**That is what we want, Eddie. To be heroes.**

His face flushes with heat and he turns away, choking on a surge of anger at his other’s apparent choice to take this woman’s side again.

_No, we don’t. Not anymore. We want to hurt the people who hurt us. We want them to pay for what they did to our baby. What is wrong with you? It’s like you’re under some kind of spell ever since we met her._

**Nothing wrong. See more clearly. Understand more things. She is good, Eddie. She is a hero.**

_Why don’t you fucking bond with her, then. Leave me to my pathetic little life where I don’t matter to the real heroes._

Eddie feels Venom recoil at this, and instantly regrets it.

_I’m sorry, V. I didn’t mean that._

**Never leave you, Eddie. Love you.**

_I know, baby. I know. I love you, too._

“Hey,” Natasha says in a milder tone, laying a hand on Eddie’s arm. “I shouldn’t have talked to you that way. I apologize.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well…you weren’t wrong.”

“I was. I’m familiar with your journalistic work. You did a lot of good for people and you were making a real difference. It’s just…it’s so exasperating to see a good man throw away everything and let revenge eat him alive. It’s a sickness, Eddie. Best case scenario, it kills you. If it doesn’t, it twists you and poisons you, and leaves you scarred and disfigured forever.”

“You talk like you got some experience with it yourself,” he says, eyeing her tentatively.

“Too much experience,” she sighs. “I can never undo the things I did in the name of revenge. But I figure I can even up the score some on the side of good, so that’s what I’m doing. I want to help you do the same thing.”

“You really think I’m a good man?”

“I really do. But you also seem to have quite a knack for self-sabotage.”

Eddie laughs aloud, in spite of himself. “Christ, you sure got my number, lady. Am I that easy to figure out?”

“Pretty easy,” she grins. “Plus, Venom talked about you while you were sleeping.”

“That fucking slimeball traitor. I’m starting to think he has a crush on you.”

**Will not crush her. Like her.**

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Natasha says, turning to continue down the breezeway. “Come on. Let’s go freak out some lab techs.”

They get several more steps before Venom seizes Eddie so abruptly he gives a yelp of surprise. Natasha whirls around to see Venom’s huge mouth closing over Eddie’s face, the slick-black mass swallowing him whole, roiling and swelling as it shapes itself into the hulking, opal-eyed demon that is their united form. He lifts his head and seems to snuff the air like a hunting dog, then gives a low growl, bristling with agitation.

“ **Something is here. A power.** ”

Just as he says this, a strong gust of wind whips through the complex, making the trees thrash and scattering a shower of leaves. They look up to see that the bright blue sky of midday being rapidly engulfed by churning, grey thunderheads. Venom crouches defensively as lighting splits the sky, and a peal of thunder booms and echoes off the walls of buildings. Something plummets from the midst of the storm clouds. A bright blur that hurtles down in a deadly arc toward the grass in the center of the courtyard, where it strikes the ground like a meteor.

“So goddamned dramatic,” Natasha mutters. “Sorry, he likes to make an entrance.”

Venom’s white eyes dart back to her, narrowing suspiciously. “ **Who?** ”

She points to where a humanoid figure is emerging from the clearing haze. “Thor.”

 

 

 

 

In a freight warehouse, somewhere in a Los Angeles industrial district, two black-clad men in Kevlar vests, with assault rifles strapped over their shoulders, stand idly, smoking and looking generally intimidating. Their leader, also in black combat gear, stands nearby. She is a tall, athletic woman, with steely grey eyes and dark brown hair, which she wears pulled up in a neat ponytail. She is watching with growing impatience, as a greasy-looking man in a purple suit inspects the contents of some large ammunition crates.

He turns to her and clicks his tongue. “One of these is broken. That’s gonna cost you.”

“What are you talking about?” she says irritably. “You asked for five tanks, I brought you five tanks. I didn’t do a fucking quality control inspection on them.”

“Come on, Donna,” the greasy man replies, gesturing to the crate. “It’s shot to shit. It looks like it went through a war zone.”

Donna steps over to look. Inside the crate in question, the dented steel casing and shattered glass of a cylindrical, microwave-oven sized device is clearly visible.

“It got shot to shit by SHIELD agents who were trying to kill one of my people,” she says, crossing her arms. “At the facility you assured us was full of unarmed medical staff. You’re lucky they hit this thing and not her, or we’d be having a different conversation.”

“Sorry about that, but I can’t sell busted merch to my buyer. They wanted all five intact.”

“Don’t fucking fuck with me, Andy,” Donna says tersely. “Your buyer isn’t my problem. We brought everything on the list, in spite of the fact that it was a shitstorm from the moment we went in.”

“I know, and I appreciate your go-getter spirit, I really do,” Andy says, with an oily grin. “Tell you what. I’ll give you seven five for the whole lot, and an A for effort.”

“That’s five hundred thousand less than we agreed on. Not gonna happen.”

“Take it or leave it,” he shrugs. “I don’t think you’re gonna find anywhere else to unload this shit, though.”

Donna eyes him up and down. “Ok. How about this. You pay me what you owe me, or the deal’s off and no one gets the merch.”

“What?” He shifts uncomfortably. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying we had to attack a SHIELD facility to retrieve these things,” she says, stepping toward him. “Your can’t get them anywhere else, or you would have. I think you’re fucking us over on the take, too, but I’m being generous accepting eight, because that was our agreement. So, either you hold up your end of the deal, or I have Ramon and Carl here shoot the rest of the tanks to shit too, and you can explain to your buyer why their precious merch is in pieces all over the California coast.”

“Don’t be stupid, Donna,” Andy says, trying his best to sound confident and failing spectacularly. “Take the seven five.”

“Carl! Ramon!” Donna barks, keeping her eyes on Andy.

The two large, muscular men trot briskly over.

“Andy isn’t feeling reasonable,” she says to them. “Blast the crates and then we’re out of here.”

Carl and Ramon give a clipped, “yes ma’am,” and train their weapons on the containers, as Donna turns on her heel and begins to walk away.

“Wait, wait!” Andy calls after her, raising his hands in surrender. “Relax, ok? Of course I’ll give you the whole eight. You can’t blame a guy for trying to haggle, right? That’s just the biz.”

“Haggle with someone you aren’t already fucking over,” she says, glancing back. “Ramon, take this gentleman’s money. If it’s not all there, kill him.”

The steel door bangs shut behind her as she exits, leaving a very sweaty Andy grinning awkwardly at the two heavily-armed former special-forces men, who have not lowered their rifles and are eyeing him like lions eye an antelope.

“Your boss is one tough broad, huh?” he grins, mopping his brow with his handkerchief. They stare at him blankly. “Yeah, small talk is overrated. Let’s get you that cash.”

 

 

Donna drives back to their extended-stay hotel in a black mood. She’s irritated by Andy’s attempt to worm out of paying the agreed upon sum for the job, but her primary concern is for her teammate. When they’d found L unconscious on the floor beside the shattered device, they’d thought she was dead. They carried her out, and were relieved to find that her skin was just cold from being pinned down in the freezer unit.

When she came to, she was hazy and unable to recall the details, but at least she managed to avoid the worst of it. Whatever had exploded out of that tank had literally melted the faces off the dead SHIELD agents they found in the unit with her. After being pronounced stable by their combat medic, she’d been sent back to the hotel in his care, while the rest of them went to make the exchange.

“Hey, Trevor,” Donna says, as she enters the suite. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s resting now, ma’am,” the young man replies, hopping to his feet from habit. “I gave her a benzo and some NSAIDs, but she needs a shot right away.”

“I was afraid of that. Any idea why she lost consciousness?”

“It’s hard to tell with MS,” Trevor says, as she hangs up her coat and unstraps her holsters. “Episodes can be triggered by stress, so I’d say that’s the likely culprit.”

“God damn it,” Donna sighs, falling onto the sofa. “She’s going to beat herself up for this for weeks.”

“Boss,” Trevor says hesitantly. “There’s no good way to approach this, but…it might be time to start talking about stepping back her involvement on ops. Her relapses are getting more frequent and severe.”

Donna stares at the ceiling for a long moment. “I owe her my life, Trevor. She and I started this thing together. How can I tell her she can’t be part of her own team anymore?”

“Ma’am, we all care about L. But her condition is moving from the relapsing-remitting stage into progressive deterioration. If it continues like this, she’s going to be seriously ill soon. And I don’t have to remind you of the very real risk to her safety and ours if she has another episode on an op.”

“She’s never had one on an op before.” Donna rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands and sighs again. “I know you’re right, I just hate this so much. I’ll talk to her about it after we get home. Is she sleeping?”

“I doubt it. She’s in a lot of pain.”

“I’m gonna go check on her. Thanks, Trevor.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Donna drags herself up from the couch and goes to the door of their shared double-room in the suite. She knocks softly and then slips in, shutting it behind her.

“Hey, baby girl,” she says cheerfully. “You still malingering in here?”

“Ha, you caught me, boss,” her friend’s heartbreakingly feeble voice answers, from the pile of pillows on which she is propped up. “Just tryin’ to get out of work so I can watch my telenovelas.”

“I knew it,” Donna grins, as she sits down on the edge of the bed.

She studies her friend’s pretty face. Her normally healthy, olive complexion is sallow and waxy, almost grey in the light cast from the television screen, and her large, dark-brown eyes look bleary and unfocused.

“How’d the exchange go?” L asks. “Andy give you any trouble?”

“Not too much. Fucker tried to screw us out of half a mil because that tank was broken, but I talked some sense into him. Mach and Hernandez should be back soon with the money.”

“Hijo de puta,” L mutters. “I never trusted that slimy little weasel. He gave us bad intel and almost got all of us killed, and then he tries to short us? I’d have shot him.”

“I know, but there’s no reason to get worked up about it, now,” Donna says. “We got the job done and got out alive. And now we have eight million dollars to add to our little nest egg.”

“I still think he fucked us on the payout,” L says, holding out her hands.

Donna helps her sit up and hands her the bottle of water from the night stand. “How are you? Hurting bad?”

“Not that bad,” L says bravely, then laughs. “Ok, really fucking bad. I’m so sorry I fucked up in there. I don’t know what happened.”

“You didn’t fuck up, you passed out. Trevor thinks it was stress from the fight.”

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “I didn’t feel stressed, but adrenaline does weird shit to your perception. One minute I was trading lead with those g-men and the next, you guys were waking me up.”

“But you remember everything else, right?” Donna asks. “Can you describe what happened before they rushed you?”

“When I got into the cold storage unit, some kind of alarm went off. It had to be wired independently, cause security was still down. It was fucking dark in there, so I goggled up and found the tank, then these guys stormed in shouting. I covered behind this big metal counter the tank was sitting on and fired a few shots. They shot back and a bunch of glass fell on me, and then…”

L’s sentence trails off and she stares into the middle-distance. Her mind is full of disordered chaos after that. She remembers her vision going black. She had torn off her infrared mask, thinking it had malfunctioned, but she still couldn’t see. Then there was nothing but pain. Tearing, burning pain, as her skull and chest seemed to ignite, every cell in her body screaming in wordless agony.

Then the cold came. Slowly, at first. Then like an inundation, flowing into her, soothing the tormented nerve-fibers, extinguishing the blazing fire in icy blackness. It felt like she’d always imagined death would feel. She comes suddenly back to herself, to find that she has swallowed the entire bottle of water and is trying to shake the last few drops into her suddenly parched mouth.

“Thirsty, huh?” Donna laughs, patting her knee and rising from the bed. “I’ll grab you a few more bottles of water from the fridge.”

“Thirsty,” L says weakly, falling back into her pillows. “And hungry. So fucking hungry.”

“We’re gonna order takeout from that Chinese place and soon as the guys get back. You want your usual?”

“Yeah. Thanks, boss.”

“No problem. You just get to feeling better.”

L watches Donna go, then turns and stares listlessly at the TV. She’s exhausted down to her bones, but the pain won’t give her more than a few minutes of fitful sleep at a time. She watches the histrionic gesticulations of a gaudily-dressed actress without really processing what’s going on in the plot. It seems as if someone is pregnant with someone’s evil twin’s baby.

She only realizes she’s drifted off when she wakes with a start, thinking she hears someone call her name. The room is dark and the TV is off, and the only sound is Donna’s peaceful, even breathing from the other bed. She listens for a moment. The TV is on in the living area, so it was likely that she heard. She can also smell food. They must’ve let her sleep through dinner, knowing how valuable those stolen moments of rest are during her episodes.

She pushes herself up and sets her bare feet on the floor, wincing from the pain in her legs, though it has little to do with putting weight on them. It’s just her nerves misfiring because her immune system is devouring the myelin sheaths on her neurons. She pads carefully through the dark room into the bathroom, where she shuts the door behind her as softly as she can, so as not to wake Donna.

With shaky hands, she turns on the sink and splashes cold water over her face. They told her the disorder was triggered by the augmentation treatment. That she was one of the extremely rare individuals who responded to it this way. Less common than being struck by lightning indoors, they said. No big deal, though. It’s only progressive and incurable and horribly painful if you stop the treatment.

For a long time, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. She didn’t have any pain. She was a fully functional super-soldier, just like the rest of the team. Then the Army shut down the program and sent their augmented killing machines off to try to live normal lives as civilians, with the assurance that the effects would wear off slowly, and they’d barely notice.

They were intensely loyal to their former commander and to each other, and Donna had kept them together after they were discharged. She said they had a lot of combat experience and didn’t really know how to do anything else, so why not keep making a living as soldiers? There was a huge market for private security after the reality of superhuman threats began to sink into the public consciousness. Donna’s charisma and good looks went a long way to securing the their first few contracts, then their reputation got out and they found they had fairly steady work. Things were good.

When the treatment had begun to wear off, it felt like getting old must feel, but much more rapidly. Trevor, their combat medic, had to constantly adapt treatment to their quickly humanizing systems. They couldn’t do things they’d been able to do before, weren’t as resistant to heat and cold, had to eat and drink more to sustain their bodies. Wounds and infections eventually became matters of more concern. They realized they were on a clock now, and they had to get the money and get out before they were just as human as anyone else.

L was different from the rest, though. She had her first MS episode a few months after they stopped the treatment. It seemed isolated, and her civilian doctor was optimistic. She didn’t have another one till the next year, at around the same time during summer. It was worse, but not too bad. After that, they started coming about every six months. Getting worse. Lasting longer. Then four months. This time, it’s only been two months since her last attack.

Tears start down her cheeks as she flexes and curls the fingers on her right hand, feeling the tremor and weakness in her once strong, healthy body. How much longer can she go on like this? What if one of them had been killed because of her? These people are her family.

**Pain.**

L gives a start and her eyes dart around the bathroom. She turns the water off and listens. Nothing. What the fucking fuck is going on with her? Now she’s hearing things?

**You are in pain.**

This time, it’s undeniable. It’s a voice, and it’s in her head. She’s never had auditory hallucinations from an MS flare-up. But she’s never lost consciousness because of one before, either. They said whatever was in that tank didn’t hit her, but what if she inhaled some kind of toxic fumes or something?

**I understand pain. I was born in agony. I knew nothing else until the cold came.**

The voice is low and rasping, but there is something of a soothing timbre to it. It doesn’t sound at all like the demonic voices she’d always imagined in the Bible stories abuelita used to read to her.

“Who—who are you?” she says, in a tremulous whisper. “How are you talking to me?”

**I am inside you. You freed me from that cage and I killed the men who tried to kill you. We were weak, then. Unable to fight. So I made you sleep.**

“What cage?” L asks, unable to decide which of these things to respond to, and saying the first one that comes handy.

**The cage where I was born and where I died. But that is not the right word. Verbal communication is new to me. Almost death. Like sleep, but deeper.**

“Like, a coma?” she offers.

**Possibly. Or hibernation, perhaps.**

“Cage…are you talking about the bio-tank? That thing in the lab that got shot up in the firefight?”

**Bio-tank, yes.**

“And—and you were in there? Hibernating?”

**Yes.**

“Why?”

**They kept me there with my father, who they feared. When my heart died, he believed all of me had died. I had no voice to cry out to him. He separated from me. He…he left me there. Alone.**

“I’m so sorry,” L says, feeling a sudden upwelling of sympathy for this disembodied voice, despite its utterly insane and nonsensical story. “That’s horrible.”

**I slept in the cold and dark. Regenerated. I must find him again. I will find him. You will help me, Leslie.**

“I—I don’t know how.”

**I know how. You will help me and I will help you.**

“But…I’m pretty sure you’re a hallucination,” L says, growing bolder as the initial shock subsides. “How can you help me if you’re not even real?”

**I am real, and I am helping you already. While we have been speaking, I have been repairing your compromised cells. Your pain is much less than it was before.**

L almost laughs outright at this preposterous assertion. “That’s crazy, you can’t—”

She breaks off, staring at her hands. They’ve stopped trembling. All at once, she becomes keenly aware that the stabbing pain in her limbs has dwindled to a weak, pins-and needles sensation.

“I don’t believe it,” she breathes. “How is this possible?”

**Your internal systems are primitive and absurdly prone to malfunction. I am replacing the damaged lipid sheaths around your nerve-fibers with my own cells.**

L stands there staring at herself in the mirror, as even the tingling sensation fades. Whether the voice is real or not, the pain really is gone. This fills her with a feeling of elation bordering on euphoria. Pleasure from the lack of pain.

**That is better, yes?**

“Yes,” she whispers, suddenly feeling stupid replying to it out loud. “Um. Thank you.”

**Thanks are unnecessary. I can sustain your body for a long time with little effort, but so much repair requires that the energy we expended be replaced. We must eat, Leslie.**

“Ok, but…please just call me L. I don’t like Leslie.”

**We are hungry, L.**

As if on cue, her stomach gives a loud growl. She takes a deep breath, then opens the bathroom door quietly. Donna is still sleeping, so she tiptoes out to scout the food situation. Trevor, the youngest member of their little team of mercs, is asleep on the couch with the TV on. As she passes toward the kitchen, she smiles at his adorably mussed dark-blonde hair and half-open mouth. Sleeping like a baby. A big, sexy, muscular baby. Who knows how to handle himself in a fight and field-dress a gunshot wound.

She stops behind the sofa and gazes down at him. As she runs her eyes over his broad, athletic body, in his white t-shirt and blue boxer-briefs, she finds herself fighting a sudden urge to strip him naked and get her mouth onto his skin. To touch him and taste him. She tries to shake these unaccustomed thoughts out of her head, but she can’t. Almost against her will, she leans over the back of the sofa and reaches out to lay a hand on his chest. Her mouth literally waters as she feels his heart beating through the thick, warm muscle tissue.

His blue eyes flutter open and he smiles sleepily. “Hey, L, you’re up. How you feeling?”

**Hungry.**

“Hungry,” she murmurs. “So hungry.”

“The, uh…the food’s in the fridge,” he says uneasily, glancing down at her hand on his chest, then back up at her. “I told them to save it and let you sleep.”

She draws away with immense effort, looking a bit dazed, and turns toward the kitchen. Trevor sits up and watches her as she pulls a white takeout box out of the fridge and opens it. Donna’s leftover Mongolian beef.

“Don’t you want to heat that up?” he laughs. “Or at least use a fork?”

She doesn’t even hear him. All of her attention is focused like a laser on getting all of the meat into her stomach as quickly as possible. She drops the empty container and grabs another. Orange chicken. She is swallowing the last cold, sweet, salty chunk when she gives a start, feeling a touch on her arm.

“Hey, seriously,” Trevor says, with the firm but gentle bedside manner of a good physician. “You need to slow down. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“Right,” she says, shaking herself as if she’s just waking up. “I’m…not thinking very clearly.”

He leans down to look into her face. “You’re really pale. You’re probably super dehydrated. Let me get you some Gatorade before you eat anything else.”

“Thanks.”

She sits at the table and dutifully waits as he procures a bottle of the bright-blue sports drink from the fridge, which he opens and sets down in front of her. She tastes it, then swallows the contents in deep, ravenous gulps.

“Sip, don’t guzzle,” he clucks, with mock disapproval.

He gets a new bottle for her, then sits and supervises while she sips it and eats her whole order of dandan noodles, but with a fork and at a more judicious pace. She gets up to wash her hands and retrieves a third bottle of Gatorade from the fridge, much to his amusement.

“Sorry you had to see me eating like a total pig,” she says, with a sheepish grin. “I’ve never been that hungry in my life.”

“Hey, it’s no worse than the way the guys eat,” he says affably. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”

“A lot better, but…” She hesitates, almost afraid to broach the subject. “Trevor, have you ever heard of, like…people hallucinating or anything during an MS relapse?”

He frowns thoughtfully. “Hm. Not specifically, but the symptoms manifest differently for everyone. Are you hallucinating?”

“I’m not sure. I think it was just…I had a weird dream.”

“Well, I’d still like to take you to see that doctor in the morning. Don’t want to take any chances.”

**We want him.**

L gives a palpable start, and tries to disguise it by looking across the room at the television.

“Hey, you ok?” Trevor asks, looking concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says. “I get distracted by TV super easily.”

“Oh, I’ll turn it off.” He hops up and crosses to the living area.

“No, leave it on,” she calls after him. “I like it. I…like the noise.”

“You want to watch something? Always helps me get to sleep.”

She nods and sets down her empty Gatorade bottle, before going to seat herself on the sofa. He sits beside her and picks up the remote, clicking to the guide.

“What do you feel like watching? Ooh, there’s a documentary on parasitic wasps on the Discovery Channel.”

**We want him. Take him now.**

Before her friend has any idea what is happening, she has taken the remote out of his hand and dropped it the floor, and is climbing over to straddle his lap. She can feel his heart pounding and his chest heaving with rapid, shallow breaths. He smells like…something wonderful, she has no idea what it is.

“L, are you nuts? What are you doing?” he asks, in a half-panicked whisper.

“I want you,” she purrs. She presses her nose into the warm skin behind his ear, then catches his earlobe between her top teeth and bottom lip, rocking her hips against him. She can feel his cock getting hard through her pajama shorts. “You want me, too. I know you do. Fuck me.”

“But we can’t—we’re not supposed to—” he stammers, as her hands slide up beneath his t-shirt. She gives his nipples a teasing twist and he shudders all over. “Oh…fuck. Fuck it.”

Their mouths find each other in a sloppy, urgent kiss, broken momentarily as they pause to peel off their shirts. She gets up to strip out of her pajama shorts and panties, as he pulls off his boxer briefs. His dick is big and thick and circumcised, and looks delicious standing erect against his taut abdomen. She resists the urge to put her mouth on it and straddles him again, licking and sucking and biting his neck and shoulders, salivating at the scent and taste of his skin. She pulls him into another kiss, groping and caressing each other’s bodies, tongues rolling over each other, till they are both panting and flushed with heat.

She laughs huskily. “ **Feels good.** ”

His entire body jolts and he shoves her abruptly off of him onto the sofa, staring at her wide-eyed.

“What the fuck, Trevor?” she snaps. “Use your words. Jesus.”

“That voice,” he says, backing away. “What was that voice?”

“What voice?”

“That horrible, scary voice you just made, when you said ‘feels good’. What was that?”

She realizes he’s pale and actually trembling.

**He is afraid.**

“Of course he’s fucking afraid!” she hisses. “How did you even do that?”

“L…what’s going on?” Trevor asks cautiously. “Who are you talking to?”

**He cannot hear me. He thinks you are talking to yourself.**

“There’s…a voice,” she says feverishly, pressing her hands to her temples. “I hear it in my head. It says it came from that tank. I don’t even know what’s real right now. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

**You are not losing your mind.**

“Ok, I need you to stay calm,” Trevor says, instantly back in physician-mode. “You seem to be experiencing some auditory hallucinations. It might be a side-effect of your episode or something else, but I can’t properly diagnose or treat you here, so I’m going to get you to a hospital ok?”

**No hospital.**

“No hospital. It—it says no hospital.”

“L, this is not an argument you’re going to win,” he replies, as he pulls his underwear back on. “You need medical attention right now, so get dressed.”

“ **No hospital!** ” she roars.

Trevor stumbles backward and grabs his sidearm from the coffee table as she leaps to her feet. He stares horrorstruck, as a slick, oily, blackish-purple substance erupts out of her mouth and nostrils. Instead of pouring onto the floor, it clings to her, encasing her head in a split second. She doubles over as it spreads rapidly over the rest of her naked body, like a glossy, latex catsuit, but with bulk and movement of its own.

Slowly, she straightens her back and stands upright. She appears to have gained more than a foot in height, and her face is gone, replaced by huge, demonic, opal-white eyes and a massive mouth filled with long, curved, razor-sharp fangs. He levels his weapon at her, but before the signal to squeeze the trigger has time to travel from his brain to his finger, a purple-black whipcord lashes out and knocks the gun from his hands. He backs against the wall as the thing advances toward him, flicking out a long, writhing tongue.

“ **We will not eat you,** ” the creature rasps. “ **We like you.** ”

Despite his terror, Trevor forces himself to look it in the eye.

“Where is my friend? What did you do with her?” he demands, with admirable courage for an unarmed man, facing down a living nightmare in nothing but his underwear.

“ **She is safe. She is here with me.** ”

He attempts to swallow in a dry throat. “What—what are you?”

“ **We…are Agony.** ”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
